


Vrikodara

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Sivagami takes eight days to tell them the story of the great war at Kurukshetra.





	Vrikodara

**Author's Note:**

> This fic presupposes knowledge of the _Mahabharata_. For those who aren't familiar with it - or who just want a reminder! - Wikipedia's articles on[the _Mahabharata_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahabharata) and on the warrior[Bhima](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhima) are a good summary, and an English translation of the complete work can be found[here](http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/maha/index.htm). 
> 
> Vrikodara - a name of the hero Bhima; literally, "wolf-bellied," referring to Bhima's voracious appetite (or Bhalla's insatiable need for love and praise.)
> 
> Warning for mild gore; the characters of the _Mahabharata_ are often not very nice, and neither is Bhalla.

At first Mother starts at the very beginning, reciting the lineage of the Kurus in as dry a tone as that with which the ancestries of visiting kings and noblemen are announced in court. It only renders her sons as glassy-eyed and drowsy as do those other genealogies: before long, Baahu's head slumps onto Bhalla's shoulder, and Bhalla does not even bother to conceal his own yawns. 

She reconsiders her approach. 

* 

"Once there were born two sets of brothers, as different as night and day...." 

* 

"A hundred sons!" Bhalla spits. "What would you do with a hundred sons?" 

"A hundred and one, if you count the daughter." 

Bhalla ignores this. "I wager you couldn't even keep track of their names if there were so many of them! Much less who shares your blood and who does not." 

"It might not be so bad," Baahu murmurs. "You'd never be lonely."  

Trust Baahu to miss the point and think the Kauravas didn't sound so bad! Clearly one is meant to despise them and favor the sons of Pandu instead. Not that it is easy to admire all of them: Yudishthira is a bit of a goody-two-shoes, Arjuna can't seem to stop showing off, and someone apparently decided that the less said about the twins, the better. But Bhalla's admiration is all for Bhima, brave Bhimasena, whose eyes are open to the outrages of his cousins and who does something about them. Bhalla smiles to hear of him swooping in to steal their food, chortles at the story of him shaking the trees to bring his cousins crashing down along with the fruits they plucked, delights that he dragged them in the dust behind them when the young Kauravas dared challenge him. 

"Not very wise," is all Baahu says, "to anger that family whose goodwill you depend upon." 

What does Baahu know anyway? 

* 

"There came a day when the wicked Duryodhana decided to kill poor Bhima, and to achieve his goal, fed him poison by the banks of the river Ganga…." 

* 

Poison, Bhalla thinks with satisfaction, could never destroy the great Bhima. Why should it? Poison is a coward's crutch and therefore useless against the truly courageous. If anything, it makes them even stronger, just as the nectar of the nagas gave Bhima the strength of ten thousand elephants. 

That particular detail stirs his imagination the most: the thought that there could be such power in the world, free for the taking if only he could find it. He can already eliminate the possibilities of any friendly nagas living in the river that flows outside the city: he sank to the bottom once, when he was small. All he remembers is staring up at the sunlight through the water, wondering if he would die, before Baahu’s hands caught his shoulders and dragged him up to the air. No serpentine saviors presented themselves, much less presented him with divine nectar to make him the strongest in all the world. 

So he looks elsewhere. 

Baahu finds him in the garden, glaring at a cobra and daring it to give up its secrets. 

“I think that only works if you’re related to the nagas,” Baahu says when Bhalla grudgingly explains. “Mother’s certainly not, and neither were either of our fathers.” 

“That’s only if you expect them to give it up willingly,” Bhalla tells him. “You have to take what you want in this world, Baahu. They’ve got all that power hidden away somewhere, and what good does it do them?” 

“Still,” says Baahu. “Mother won’t be happy if you are bitten.” 

The snake lunges. Bhalla staggers back, but finds Baahu’s knife thrown between him and the snake before it can come any further. His breaths slow. He straightens once more. 

If Baahu dares even _think_ anything along the lines of “I told you so,” Bhalla swears he’ll kill him. 

* 

“Bhima knew only one sadness: that his beloved teacher Balarama always favored Duryodhana above him.” 

* 

“Well done, my prince!” booms Kattappa, and Bhalla swings his mace back, satisfied. Stubborn old Kattappa hands out compliments so grudgingly that this is tantamount to saying Bhalla is unsurpassed in his mastery of weapons, even at so young an age. 

Baahu emerges from the armory. In his hands, he twirls that axe he’s so fond of: a paltry weapon, useless in combat. Even the woodcutters would laugh at such a thing, Bhalla thinks derisively. 

“Catch, Uncle!” he calls and flings it through the air. 

It’s so stupid and so dangerous an action that Bhalla can only stare. If old Kattappa were a hair slower — if Baahu misjudged his throw even to the slightest degree— 

Well, then, for once Baahu would face the consequences of his foolishness, and no one could fault Bhalla for it. 

Kattappa catches the axe out of the air; of course he does. But instead of reprimanding Baahu, as he certainly would have if anyone else—if _Bhalla _—had done such a thing, his face splits into a smile before he laughs. It makes him appear years younger, a stranger instead of the silent soldier Bhalla has always known.__

__”You’ll have to do better than that to catch this old man by surprise, Baahu,” he says, voice warmer than his words would suggest._ _

__Somehow it seems higher praise than anything Bhalla has ever earned._ _

__*_ _

____

____

“Not even the strongest could stand against Bhima, even though one by one they tried. He slew the terrible Hidimba, the cruel Bakasura, and even the fearsome emperor Jarasandha. He conquered all the eastern lands alone; without him, the great empire of Indraprastha would never have been built.” 

* 

In the mornings, Bhalla holds court among his friends. 

If he’s honest with himself, he finds he doesn’t like them much: Ashvath is a glutton, Sethupathy has never shown any signs of independent thought, and Devraj rattles off variations of the same three jokes again and again. Bhalla waves away the seventh offered plate of sweetmeats, tolerates Sethupathy's overenthusiastic agreement with the mildest observations, and forces his mouth to form a smile at Devraj's latest attempt at wit. 

He wonders what Baahu is doing. 

Father says, though, that this is what a true king-to-be should spend his time doing. Well enough to be cheered by commoners, but would they help when the coffers of the royal treasury ran dry? Would they guarantee the loyalty and military support of their overlords? Would they make offerings at the temples if a drought came and the gods needed to be satisfied? 

Ashvath’s father controls the best diamond mines in the country, Sethupathy’s family has governed the Malawa Islands for generations, and Devraj is related to three priests and has the ear of thirty more. His father is many things, but no fool. This, not Baahu's carefree, careless existence, is how empires are created. 

Bhalla grits his teeth and endures. 

* 

“But misery comes even to the mighty, and just so it found Bhima and his brothers.” 

* 

The real trouble, as Bhalla sees it, starts with the arrival of Draupadi. 

Not that he objected to his hero taking a wife; after all, a prince needed to have heirs. Bhalla just appreciated the demoness Hidimbi more, who’d dutifully produced a son and disappeared from the narrative. Draupadi, though—Draupadi seemed determined to hang about far longer and cause havoc. 

Now, as Mother describes the dice game that causes the Pandavas’ downfall, Bhalla knows he was right. 

Baahu, on his other side, is frowning over the injustices done to Draupadi. Bhalla ignores him; Baahu was just as indignant after hearing of Sita’s captivity, and it was just as uninteresting hearing his protests then as it will be now. Mother indulges him, however. 

“It isn’t fair!” Baahu says. “The royal elders should have done something!” 

“Duryodhana won his stakes fairly,” Mother explains. “There was nothing they could have said that would change that. They were bound by the laws of the game, Baahu.” 

“No game is worth someone’s _freedom_.” Baahu glowers. “They should have stopped it, long before it came to that.” 

“If they had, there would hardly be a story for Mother to tell, would there?” Bhalla interrupts lazily. He isn’t worried. One way or another, he knows, Bhima will find his way out of this misfortune. If his brothers and wife are left behind in slavery, what of it? They do nothing but drag him down. 

For once his hero disappoints him. Baahu hums with satisfaction as Draupadi wins her husbands' freedom, the unquestioned heroine of the hour. Bhalla looks away. 

* 

“And so Bhima with his brothers roamed the forests for thirteen years, and for the fourteenth, endured even the indignity of being living as servants in the kingdom of Matsya…” 

* 

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” says Baahu. Bhalla scoffs. 

“They were _princes,_ ” he reminds Baahu, “raised in a royal house. They were meant for better things than doing menial chores in a kitchen.” 

“They were safe, they were happy, they were together. What more could they want?” 

Sometimes, Bhalla can hardly believe the same blood runs through his and Baahu’s veins. “Their birthright,” he says. “Their kingdom. What they were due.” 

Baahu looks utterly unconvinced. Typical. Baahu prefers to hear of Lord Rama, whose enemies were just as noble and honorable as he, who would have happily remained in exile for another fourteen years at the slightest excuse. Baahu doesn’t understand that the real world is a harder and a harsher place than that; he doesn't see that being a king demands effort and focus and sacrifice. A man to whom a kingdom means so little he could forsake it easily doesn’t deserve to possess it. Bhalla knows this, because his father taught him so at his knee. Baahu has no father, and therefore will live and die ignorant. 

Sometimes, Bhalla cannot understand why Mother feels the need to wait to announce who the next crown prince will be.

* 

”Bhima kept his vows. He tore open the chest of the wicked Dushasana and drank his blood; he broke the thigh of the wicked Duryodhana and left him to die….” 

* 

”Dishonorable,” declares Baahu. “There is no honor in desecrating the bodies of the dead, even those of your enemies. Much less your own cousin!” 

Bhalla does not reply. He has no answer, except that he understands the anger that would lead a man to do such a thing, to feel the warmth of your rival’s blood against your fingers, to know with certainty that it was over and you would never again have to fear their hated influence intruding upon your life. Never again would he be allowed to take what was yours. Never again would anyone look from you to him, only to find you wanting. Never again would his voice interrupt even your own thoughts— 

”It was beneath him,” Baahu says, and Bhalla, without quite meaning to, finds his face twisting into a snarl. 

* 

”After the war ended, Bhima approached the aged Dhritarashtra, father of the hundred sons he had killed, hoping to ask forgiveness….” 

* 

Father comes to his room before he sleeps. Mother’s visits are infrequent at best, but without fail Father spends a few minutes every night asking after his day, giving him advice, reminding him that whatever else he may be, he is Father’s beloved son before all else. 

”Your mother finished telling you her story, did she?” he asks, and Bhalla sits up, eager to share the best part with his father. 

”Yes, and Bhima met Dhritarashtra, and Dhritarashtra told him to come and greet him, but really he meant to crush him with all his strength when he least expected it—“ 

Father isn’t listening. “Dhritarashtra,” he says. “That poor man. Do you realize, Bhalla, how much good could have been done if he had been put on the throne to begin with? All those years, he was the one who ruled, while his sons and nephews dithered over who would inherit, and didn’t Hastinapur prosper? But no.” He lets out a dry laugh. “A blind man wasn’t good enough. A man with a crippled arm isn’t good enough.” 

Bhalla stares at him, appalled. This is all wrong. Duryodhana and the Kauravas are the wicked ones, not the ones deserving of anyone’s pity. Father should know better. Surely Father knows better. 

”Injustice is not new,” Father tells him. “That is what we can learn from our history. That is what I intend for you to realize. I won’t raise a soft fool like that brat your mother favors.” 

”Never, Father.” 

“Of course not. You are wiser by far, and stronger, too. You are worth a thousand of my spineless brother’s son. One day everyone will see that, just as I do.” 

Bhalla beams. 

”Dhritarashtra and I might have suffered for the prejudice of others. But you, my Bhalla,” says Father, leaning close. “You have none of our faults. You will be king one day, and my pride will know no bounds.”

”Yes, Father,” Bhalla says obediently; but even as Father gives him an affectionate one-armed hug, he closes his eyes and imagines only the statue of Bhimasena, crumbling to pieces in the blind king’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> In part this story exists because after all this time, I felt I owed Bhallaladeva a character study. But also what I find fascinating is the influence that stories from the _Mahabharata_ and _Ramayana_ have over us to this very day; for centuries, we've all been telling and retelling these stories, and sympathizing with the characters, producing very different interpretations based on our own perceptions and experiences, all equally valid!  
>  In that light, it made sense to me that Bhalla would identify with a hero, not a villain; in his story, from his perspective, he is the one who is unfairly treated, after all! But I think it's important that Bhalla ignores many of Bhima's best traits, most notably his loyalty to and love for his brothers and Draupadi, to shape his own interpretation. Which says rather more about him than anything else, I think.
> 
> *Bhalla's near-drowning is from "Jeeva Nadhi," not any actual canon! Bhalla's quest to find the pots of power is 100% the creation of the amazing parlegee/weaslayyy, whose mention of this made me laugh out loud for five minutes and then beg to use it myself; as much as I wish I could, I can claim none of the credit.
> 
> * Bhalla's friends, with the exception of Sethupathy of course, are all my own invention. On that note, we know nothing of Sethupathy's background other than he is an official in the royal court, but given that his name means "master of the bridge," I couldn't resist the pun of having him originate from the islands.
> 
> * And finally, thank you very, very much to Anāmikā (coffee_and_cream), whose prompt for _Childhood, Bhalla and Baahu_ was the original inspiration for this before it got away from me!


End file.
